


Razor

by capitainpistol



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Missing Scene, Romance, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitainpistol/pseuds/capitainpistol
Summary: Relieve me of this duty, and my razor is yours to command.Jaime shaves his beard for Cersei. A short missing scene in AFFC.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Razor

Her Grace entered her chambers and quickly blocked the way, stopping her handmaidens from following her inside. “Away. All of you. Let me alone. I want to be alone.” She slammed it shut on their protests and locked the bolts. Cersei rested her head against the iron and let out a long deep breath. She had kept it in half the night due to the tightness of her dress. A tickling sensation passed down her back, she felt the wild stirring behind her, the pitter patter of droplets falling onto a bowl.

 _Jaime_.

And she was right. A smile curdled before it dared to show itself.

Jaime said nothing, but his shadow danced on the walls as he continued shaving his beard. Was that for her sake? Or to appear better before their men, when he trotted out in front of their army to finish the sourge of the riverlands.

Yet he watched her.

And she watched him. Try as she might not to, digging at her bodice, suddenly unable to breathe. Her head buzzing with the throb of her heart and heat of her blood.

Cersei frowned at him, about to ask why he was there, but she was more tolerant of casual insolence during the hour of the wolf. She had wanted this, after all. For him to shave that gods awful beard. Robert had his massive disgusting one with bitelets and dribble. Lancel's barely could be called one though she felt that as well. The Kettleblacks together could survive a whole winter naked they had enough hair. Jaime had returned emaciated but shaven. Reminded her of their Father. That had not lasted long. 

Maybe he could fuck her, but she would not beg him to or to stay. Neither would he, if he wanted to avoid another row. She said nothing.

Each glance they passed one another – while she struggled with the bodice and while he struggled with the razor's edge – further resolved them not to speak. Any question would inspire a droll rebuke. Any declaration of love, forgiveness, reconciliation gods forbid, would provoke laughter and pity. 

Speak first, surrender first.

Tug and pull, tug and pull, Cersei made a mess of knots down in front of her, tightening her waist and popping out her breasts like a trollop leaning over a balcony on the Street of Skin. 

Jaime grinned, scraping up his throat, waiting for her to relent. Cersei began to pale, resolved to die first. 

Jaime went to her. Each step more arrogant than the last. And once in front of her, when she lifted her chin and did not look at the shiny candlelit edge, he sliced the laces apart. Having only the one hand, he was slow and careful. He would never harm her, but he could not promise he would not cut her... or himself. A few tense seconds later and the bodice broke open, drawing her froward in release. Blood rushed to her chest and neck and Jaime dropped the razor. He kissed her and pulled it off, broke it n two, has face wet against her cheek.


End file.
